


Savior Complex

by raving_liberal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Best Friends to Lovers, Character Death Fix, Character Death In Dream, Dean/Cas Tropefest 5k Mid-Winter Challenge (Supernatural), Dreams and Nightmares, Episode AU: s15e18 Despair, Episode: s15e18 Despair - Castiel's Confession Scene, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, First Kiss, Fix-It, Love Confessions, M/M, dreams vs reality, tropefest2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28686438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: Dean has another chance to tell Cas “I love you” back. Can he let himself take it?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 118
Collections: Dean/Cas Tropefest 2021 Mid-Winter 5k





	Savior Complex

**Author's Note:**

> Ringing in the new year with the Tropefest 2021 Mid-Winter 5k. I'm going to pretend it counts as exercise.
> 
> Big thanks to david of oz for his excellence in editing and to geekyramblings for being a beta-reader extraordinare!

Dean jerks awake, panting and clawing at the sheets, sinuses burning. His face is wet when he touches it. He expects blood, somehow, but of course it’s just tears. His clothes are soaked with sweat – the sheets, too, damp gingerbread man chalk-outline of his body. His left shoulder burns where a handprint once rested. Where he thinks one might now rest again. 

Hauling himself up onto his unsteady feet, Dean staggers to the sink to splash cold water on his face. He ducks away from his reflection, though he still catches a glimpse. Red, puffy lids above and dark hollows below make his eye burn greener than usual. His lashes feel gummy, so he splashes more water, scrubbing at his eyes. Hell of a nightmare to be able to ride him into waking like that. It takes a lot, these days.

He’s standing there in his wet shirt and boxers when someone taps gently on his door. It’s soft enough for Dean to ignore, to pretend he’s sleeping, but his jackrabbiting heart propels him forward. Without any conscious thought, his hand is on the knob.

The door swings open a few inches to reveal Cas, as rumpled as if he, too, had been sleeping. With how he’s been acting lately, how he’s looked, maybe he was. 

“What’s up?” Dean asks, a study in 3 a.m. nonchalance. “You need something?”

Cas’s already creased brow furrows further. “I… I thought you might be the one in need.”

“Me?” Dean lets the door fall farther open so Cas can see everything is fine, doesn’t even cut his eyes toward the tangled mess of his bed. “Nah, I’m good.”

“I thought I heard you calling me,” Cas admits. He screws up his face when he says it, like it costs him something. Maybe it does. It costs Dean something, anyway.

“Just a dream,” Dean says. “You still poking around in those?”

“No,” Cas says with a brisk head shake. “Not intentionally. It’s just hard to tune you out sometimes, when you pray to me.”

“I wasn’t praying to you, man. I was sleeping,” Dean insists. He might have prayed, though, in the dream, like he did in Purgatory. He must have prayed, now that he can turn the dream over in the waking world. He’d awoken with Cas’s name on his lips, tears on his cheeks, and that feels like his experience with praying felt. Heartsick. Hopeless. Desperate. 

“My apologies. I’ll let you get back to that,” Cas says. Every ingrained instinct in Dean says to let Cas go, so he’s surprised to find himself snagging Cas by the sleeve. Cas hasn’t even tried to leave yet, but here Dean is, holding him in place.

“I mean, we’re both up now anyway,” Dean says. “We could, I dunno. Binge some Netflix. You still watching the one with the hot British nurses?”

“They’re midwives, Dean, and their physical appearance has no impact on the quality of care they give the mothers of Poplar.”

“But the blonde’s pretty hot, right?” 

Cas sighs. “Yes. Nurse Franklin is attractive. I’ve already watched all the available episodes, though.”

“So no midwives,” Dean says. “Got anything else you’re working on?”

“Sam gave me his login information for Disney Plus,” Cas says.

Dean snorts a little laugh as he shakes his head. “What a nerd. Let me guess. He’s got you watching that Baby Yoda show?”

“The Child is quite captivating,” Cas says. “I find him strangely relatable, but I also feel…” He trails off and shakes his head. “It’s not important.”

“You’d die for the little green bastard, wouldn’t you?” Dean asks, grinning.

“As we are still uncertain of his parentage, it’s unfair to assume—”

“Oh my god, Captain Literal. Fine. Fine! No shit-talking Baby Yoda. We all love Baby Yoda.” Dean coaxes the door the rest of the way open. “We can watch the Baby Yoda show. Just get in here, will you?”

Cas always looks grateful to be admitted into Dean’s sanctum, as though he somehow thinks this time Dean might deny him entrance. Dean feels more concerned about how comparatively undressed he is next to Cas, and how his damp, clinging sleep clothes reveal a little more than he is sure he’s comfortable with.

“Just make yourself at home,” Dean says, grabbing a clean tee and a pair of old sweats out of his dresser. “I’m just gonna change. I’ll be right back.”

“I don’t wish to run you out of your room, Dean.”

“You’re not. It’s fine. I could stand to take a second.”

Cas nods somberly and perches on the edge of Dean’s bed. Dean hopes the sweat has had time to dry. He doesn’t close the door behind him as he walks down the hall to the bathroom, already stripping out of his shirt, the floor tiles cool under his feet. Once in the bathroom, he decides a quick rinse won’t take too much time, and Cas might appreciate Dean not stinking like fear-sweat and sadness if they’re settling in for a real marathon. 

Dean keeps the water cool. As the spray beats against his back and shoulders, he lets himself try to recall the dream. Something about Cas and the Empty. Something about a deal.

Something about Cas loving him.

A gear of realization snaps into place in Dean’s gut, the motor starts turning, and suddenly everything is clear and aligned. Dean dreamed Cas told him he loved him, with Death literally pounding at the door, and before Dean could do anything but plead with him not to sacrifice himself, it was over. Cas, gone to the Empty; Dean, a ruin of a man slumped against the wall, Cas’s bloody handprint smeared on his jacket sleeve. 

The shower lasts longer than Dean planned, but he’s put most of the puzzle pieces together by the time he shuts the water off. He towels himself dry with one of the ridiculously huge ‘bath sheets’ Sam bought, which are a good twice the size of Dean’s usual towels. His clean tee feels cool and crisp. His sweatpants hug his hips comfortably. His reflection looks close to normal, if a little baffled.

Dean diverts to the kitchen on the way back to his room. He might be stalling, but he also thinks beer and popcorn might be just the ticket to ride out this weird night. He adds plenty of extra butter, along with some of that Creole spice blend Cas discovered while working a case in Louisiana a few years ago. Apparently, it has enough flavor to actually taste like more than just molecules, and Cas has been wild about the stuff ever since. They buy it online and have it shipped to their P.O. box, even though it always makes Sam sneeze when they use it. That’s just part of its charm, the way Dean sees it.

Dean hesitates just outside his bedroom door, which is still swung mostly open. He can see the footboard of his bedframe and the bottoms of Cas’s sock feet. The bed looks like Cas might have made it before stretching out on it. A big part of Dean wants to tell Cas about his dream, but the deep-seated Winchester stoicism does its best to shout that part down. It was just a dream. This is just a late night binge watch. No reason to overthink it. 

Still, it was a weird rabbit hole for his brain to go down, even in a dream. Death’s involvement, sure, he can get that. They’re trying to read her book, and this wasn’t the first nightmare she’s appeared in over the past few weeks. But why would his brain even come up with the idea of Cas making a deal with the Empty? Why would his unconscious mind make Cas deliver that particular monologue?

“I smell popcorn,” Cas says loudly from Dean’s room, shaking him from his navel gazing.

“’Cause I made popcorn,” Dean says, bumping the door the rest of the way open with one hip, then knocking it closed again with the other hip. “Grabbed some beer, too. Figured we’d make it a real movie night.”

Cas smiles, twisting his mouth like he’s trying to keep a full-blown grin in check. He scoots from the center of the bed to the left side, leaving Dean’s usual side free. He accepts the popcorn bowl and beer when Dean offers them.

Dean settles on the bed next to Cas, grabbing his laptop from the nightstand drawer. He lets his knee fall against Cas’s leg and balances the laptop there. 

“Which episode are you on?” Dean asks.

“We can start from the beginning if you’d like,” Cas offers. 

“You sure?”

“Yes. The show is enjoyable. I think you’ll like it. You and the Mandalorian are a lot alike.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “So he’s staggeringly handsome, too?”

“He doesn’t remove his helmet in front of others,” Cas says. “He, like you, is a man of principle. A good man.”

“I was just kidding, Cas,” Dean says.

“You’re also both excellent caretakers of the children placed in your charge,” Cas continues. “You put their safety and happiness above your own.”

“Cas,” Dean says, helplessly. What’s a guy supposed to say to that?

“And you’re both honorable—”

“Cas, c’mon.”

Undaunted, Cas carries on. “And loyal. You keep your word, even when it costs you.”

“Cas,” Dean repeats, his voice breaking this time. Cas’s speech is starting to sound too much like the one in Dean's dream. “Cas, man, you’ve gotta stop.”

“Why?” Cas asks, eyebrows tilting quizzically. 

“Let’s just put the show on,” Dean says.

“Dean,” Cas says in that gravelly voice. “What’s wrong?”

“You don’t have to say that kind of stuff to me,” Dean says.

“I know compliments make you uncomfortable, but this…” Cas frowns. “Something else is going on.”

“It’s nothing,” Dean says. “It was just that nightmare getting my head all turned around.”

“Will you tell me what you dreamed?” Cas asks. 

“Dreams don’t mean anything,” Dean says. Cas cocks his head to the side and smiles, his whole face softening.

“We both know that isn’t always true, Dean.”

Dean sits up, swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and stands. Suddenly, he can’t be still. He paces over to the sink and turns on the water, then turns it off again. He can’t stand to look at Cas. 

“Dean,” Cas says gently. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dean insists.

“I think you do,” Cas says, standing. “I think you need to.”

“You’ve been in my dreams. You already know how fucked up they are.”

“I only visited you a few times, but I found your dreams to be comforting.”

“Jesus Christ, Cas,” Dean says, gripping the edge of the sink. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth,” Cas says. 

“Because I dreamed—” Dean breaks off with a shuddering, desperate gasp for air, because the dream still feels so real. That should have faded by now, but if anything, it feels _more_ real, true in a way Dean can’t quite grab hold of.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs, moving to Dean’s side. Cas’s right hand, square and strong, cups Dean’s left shoulder, and that’s what finally breaks him. Suddenly, Dean can’t breathe. Each ragged, panting breath leaves him more oxygen starved. He’s drowning. The air is _right there_ , but he’s drowning all the same. His head swims and the lights in the room fade in and out.

“Breathe,” Cas says. His voice is firm and insistent, and Dean would like to obey, he really would, only Cas’s hand is still on his shoulder. The thought grips him just as hard – it wasn’t just a dream.

“The Empty,” Dean gasps. “You and the Empty. You—.” He inhales raggedly between words, watching Cas’s face. Because he’s watching so closely, he sees it fall.

“Dean,” Cas says.

“Shit,” Dean pants. “Fuck. It’s true? It’s true. It’s real.”

“What did you see?” Cas asks. 

“You and the Empty. You made a deal,” Dean says. 

Cas nods. “For Jack. For his life.”

“But that’s not why it came,” Dean says. “In the dream. It came because you told me something.” He waits for Cas to offer an explanation, an alternative to what Dean heard in his dream, but Cas stays silent, a stone angel holding Dean by the arm. “Cas. Cas, say something. Say anything.”

“I suppose—” Cas clears his throat. “I suppose I told you I lo—”

“Don’t say it _now_!” Dean says, finally batting Cas’s hand away.

“I assure you, I’m currently in no danger,” Cas says. “Far from it.”

Dean constantly surprises himself by how much things hurt, and this is definitely one of those things. 

“Because you don’t really feel like that,” he says dully. “That part wasn’t real.”

Cas smiles. The soft-paper corners of his eyes crinkle. “No, Dean. That part was the most real. But you finding out—about my deal, about my… feelings—like this isn’t how I imagined the moment happening. I know you can’t reciprocate, and I have made my peace with that, but I also never wished for my feelings to be a burden. I take no happiness in that.”

“Cas, man, you’re not a burden. You couldn’t ever be,” 

Cas’s smile goes wry. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

“Yeah, in the past, maybe,” Dean admits. “Not now, though. You’re not a burden. You’re family.”

“And I’m content with that. I know how much you love your family, and I am lucky to be included in that select number,” Cas says. 

“If that’s true, why didn’t the Empty come until you told me you loved me?” Dean asks.

“As that moment is not yet upon us, I can’t be sure.”

“You’re a cagey guy sometimes. Anybody ever told you that?”

“Hmm. I’m certain you’ve said as much on multiple occasions,” Cas says. He returns to Dean’s bed and sits, motioning for Dean to join him.

“Well, I was right every time. You’re, what’s that word? _Inscrutable._ ” Dean settles on his side of the bed, stretching his legs out and leaning back against the headboard. “So am I having prophetic dreams now or something? What’s up with that?”

Cas shrugs, the folds of his trenchcoat shifting and rustling like wings. Dean wants to tear the stupid thing off him and force him to get comfortable. Buy him some pajamas. Flannel maybe, the kind that comes in a matched set. The thought of Cas in a pair of flannel pajamas makes Dean smile. Cas tilts his head and regards Dean curiously, though he doesn’t ask Dean what he’s thinking. Maybe he still has enough angel mojo to pluck the image out of Dean’s head. 

“You ready to watch some Baby Yoda?” Dean asks finally.

“You don’t wish to discuss this any further?” Cas says. Dean shakes his head.

“First the Baby Yoda show, then maybe some breakfast, and then maybe we can talk about it some more,” Dean says. “Now, you wanna at least pretend to get comfortable?”

“I’m perfectly comfortable like this.”

“Sure you are.”

“What do you suggest I do differently?” Cas asks.

“Lose the coat, for starters,” Dean says. “And the suit jacket. And the _tie_. Come on, man, it’s the middle of the night. No reason to be so buttoned up all the time. It’s okay to change into something comfortable.”

“I recall you telling me once I shouldn’t change.”

“I meant, like, who you are as a person. Angel. Whatever. Not that you can’t get a pair of sweatpants.”

“I don’t sweat.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “That’s not— look, if I give you something comfortable to put on, will you wear it?”

Cas seems to mull it over, his mouth twisted and brows furrowed in thought. “If that would make you happy,” he finally says.

“Happier than you watching Baby Yoda on my bed dressed like you’re about to do my income taxes,” Dean says.

“Dean,” Cas says fondly. “We both know that would require income first.”

Dean doesn’t even try to stop the bray of laughter. “Ah, whatever, you jackass.” He rolls off the bed and scrounges up some comfortable clothes: a faded black tee, a pair of worn flannel pajama pants, and, just because he thinks he’d really enjoy seeing Cas in it, a soft grey hoodie. He holds them out to Cas, wondering for just a moment about what Cas might have done in the old days, years ago. Stripped right there, probably, without any sort of self-consciousness.

The Cas of now accepts the clothes and quietly slips out of Dean’s room to find a place to change, leaving Dean off kilter and slightly disappointed. Cas returns quickly, though, and soon they’re comfortably lying under a fleece blanket on Dean’s bed with the bowl of popcorn between them and the opening scene of _The Mandalorian_ playing.

Dean remembers the first six or seven episodes, but he loses the thread after that and finds himself nodding off. At one point, he lifts his head to find Cas tucking the fleece blanket in around him. Before he can protest, Cas looks at him with eyes burning like blue fire.

“You _will_ rest, and I _will_ watch over you,” Cas tells Dean sternly, plucking an empty beer bottle from his hand. “Is that understood?”

“Bossy,” Dean murmurs, but otherwise doesn’t argue. Cas turns off the lights and returns to Dean’s side, lying on top of the blanket. His leg presses against the full length of Dean’s leg, and it’s nice. A little arousing in sort of a weird way, but good. Dean doesn’t have to lie there with his thoughts for long.

Because life isn’t some kind of teen drama, Dean’s sleep isn’t magically dreamless. Elements from his nightmare make an appearance, joined by random details from _The Mandalorian_. The Empty and that asshole Darth guy who owns the fried chicken place in the meth show have a lightsaber battle over Cas’s, well… _Casness_. Whatever version of a soul he’s got. Dean really wants to shoot Darth Pollo Hermano with his blaster, but he can’t, because of the carbonite.

“Dean,” Cas says, his voice coming from everywhere at once. “Rest.”

Just like that, the Empty is gone, along with the Star Wars guy, and Dean is on a dock he knows well. He’s had this dream so many times. He smiles as he pops the top on a beer and casts his line into the water. The fish seldom bite here, but that’s not ever been the point. The pale autumn sun shines over Dean. His beer is exactly the right temperature. Cas is there, somewhere. Everywhere, maybe. 

“I’d have said it back, if I’d had the chance,” Dean says, to the dream-Cas all around him. “You know what they say about assuming. Ass of you and me, and all that.” He feels Cas’s gasp and sense of awe and bewilderment surrounding him, and he salutes with his beer, gazing out over the pond’s still waters.

The rest of Dean’s sleep is deep and peaceful, and he wakes in the morning to find himself curled around Cas, who—strangely—also seems to be asleep. In sleep, Cas’s features smooth out, and he looks more like he did when Dean first met him over a decade ago. His eyes move under his thin, lavender-tinted eyelids – dreaming. 

Instead of pulling a performative ‘no homo’ that at this point would be more farce than fact, Dean just allows himself to lie there and watch Cas sleep. Why deny himself this? He lets himself be comfortable and warm, well-rested for once, and inexplicably happy. This hasn’t changed Cas’s deal with the Empty. It hasn’t altered their inevitable course towards a final showdown with Chuck. It hasn’t really clarified anything about Cas’s feelings for him or vice versa, at least not out loud. Still, Dean feels a rare peace in his heart and head, so he lets things lie.

Some time later, maybe an hour, hour and a half, Cas stirs, rolling towards Dean. He stretches with his eyes still closed, smiling. Dean finds himself smiling back, which is what greets Cas when he finally opens his eyes.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, his voice even more gravelly than usual.

“Hello yourself,” Dean says. “You decide to take a power nap? Haven’t done that in a while.”

“Many things have changed of late,” Cas notes, stretching until his back pops. “And many things have been made clear.”

“You getting biblical on me? Before coffee?” Dean asks, which makes Cas smile.

“ _If ye shall ask any thing in my name, I will do it_ ,” Cas says. He reaches out and gently runs his fingers through Dean’s hair and down over his temple, his cheekbone, the rough-stubbled hinge of his jaw. He touches the dimple in Dean’s chin and the scar beside it with his thumb.

“Cas,” Dean whispers. 

“Yes, that’s my name,” Cas tells him. “Ask.”

“Do you really— feel that? Like you told me in my dream?”

“ _Ask_ ,” Cas says again, holding Dean by the chin, as though Dean could even begin to tear his eyes away from Cas’s.

“Cas,” Dean says. “Do you love me?” Cas smiles and nods slightly in encouragement. “Are you in love with me?”

“Yes,” Cas answers.

“Even though you think I don’t feel it back?”

“My happiness isn’t found in the reciprocation. It’s in the loving.”

“Then why isn’t the Empty coming for you right now?” Dean asks. “How are you telling me this without being sucked into some kind of weird hell-portal?”

“Because my happiness is very much riding shotgun to how angry I am with myself,” Cas admits. “Apparently I have been, as I was so recently informed, _assuming_.”

“Thought you only hung out in my dreams a few times,” Dean says, with a little smile to let Cas know it isn’t a complaint.

“I told you I would watch over you,” Cas says. The amount and degree of eye contact Cas is making with him right now should be uncomfortable, but instead Dean is mesmerized.

Dean tries to swallow the lump in his throat and fails spectacularly. “Yeah. You did.”

“And you rested well?” 

“Uh. Yeah,” Dean says, nodding. His head doesn’t move far because Cas still has Dean’s chin in his fingers. “Really good. Great, actually.”

“Was it true?” Cas asks. Jesus, his eyes are blue and deep as a lagoon, deep like that weird pool inside that ocean cave Sam showed Dean pictures of, that goes down and down and down, cerulean and crystal clear.

“What?”

“What you said to me in your dream?” 

Dean can’t move his head. He can’t even blink. Cas has him pinned with two fingers on his chin and a _look_. He manages a shaky inhale through his nose and to keep his lip from trembling. Even that much feels momentous.

“I don’t want you to die, Cas,” Dean whispers.

“I won’t,” Cas says. Dean nearly believes him. “Was it true? Did you only say it because you were afraid I would die?”

“I’m afraid to say it because you’ll die.”

Cas’s smile unfurls slowly, a sunflower smile, broad and bright. “Will you say it again if I promise you I won’t die? That I won’t leave or disappear?”

Dean nods. “Yeah.”

“Dean, I promise you. I’m not leaving you. Not now,” Cas says. His fingers tighten slightly on Dean’s chin, firm enough for Dean to feel how much Cas means it.

“I said you were an ass,” Dean says. Cas huffs and barely avoids rolling his eyes.

“The other thing,” Cas says.

“I said… I said I would have said it back,” Dean says. “If I had the chance. If you hadn’t just assumed I couldn’t feel it, too.”

“I had no reason to hope you did.”

“I know. I know what I’m like. It’s just… it’s hard for me. This. Saying it.”

“Because of this vessel?” Cas asks. “Or because of our history?”

“Because it’s just hard for me to feel,” Dean says. “Do you know how many times—” He shakes his head; Cas lets him. “It’s not easy to let that kind of stuff in. You let it in, you get hurt. People you care about get hurt. Better to just…” Dean cocks an eyebrow and a flirtatious smile at Cas, a meet-me-in-the-alley smile. “Keep it simple. Uncomplicated. Easy.”

“Nothing about you is easy,” Cas says flatly. 

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or…”

Cas huffs louder. “You’re insufferable. I’m in love with you, and you’re absolutely insufferable.”

“Well, I’m in love with you, too, and you aren’t exactly a cakewalk!” Dean snaps back. Cas’s eyes widen. He releases Dean’s chin only to immediately cup his face with both hands.

“Say it again without insulting me,” Cas says.

“You first, sunshine.”

“Dean,” Cas says, his face very close to Dean’s. Even low-powered angels seem to get a pass on morning breath, apparently. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I’m furious with myself for assuming instead of asking, and I love you.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “I’m a little pissed about that, too, even if I get it. I love you, alright? Not just like a friend. Not like a brother.”

“How?” Cas breathes.

“Like I’m in love with you,” Dean says. “Like losing you would kill me. Like I’d fight like hell to keep you. Like I’d kill anything that tried to take you.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about the deal,” Cas says.

“Good. You hang on to being sorry and pissed if it keeps the Empty at bay, and in the meantime, _I love you_ , and we’ll figure this shit out. The Empty, Chuck, Jack – all of it. But don’t you fucking quit on me.” Dean’s eyes burn with unshed tears. “I mean it, man. Don’t you pull any of that ‘go gentle into that good night’ crap. You stay with me.”

Cas nods, his eyes bright and swimming. “I’ll stay with you.”

“We’ll work the problem. We’ll work it until we solve it. No Death. No Empty. Just you and me, and Sam, and the kid,” Dean says.

“Okay,” Cas says.

“You understand me?” Dean says. “Stay mad. Don’t you dare let that thing take you from me.”

“I won’t.” 

“No heroic bullshit, either. It’s all of us or none of us.”

“I understand,” Cas says, nodding vigorously as the tears start rolling down his cheeks.

“Well. Well, good,” Dean says. Without anything else to add, Dean punctuates his statement by pressing his mouth to Cas’s. He takes in the softness of Cas’s lips, the rough scrape of his stubble, the slick ivory of his teeth. Cas’s ocean-air breath. Cas’s tongue. The hot, solid aliveness of him. 

Cas deepens the kiss and makes it harder, rolling Dean onto his back, Cas’s body pinning him to the memory foam. Dean isn’t surprised by how fast he gets hard, but is a little by how quickly Cas does, too. They kiss and— well, less grind so much as just desperately rub their bodies against each other, trying to make as much contact as possible. Dean’s fingertips graze Cas’s bare sides where his shirt rucks up. Cas paws at Dean’s face, stroking his neck and across his throat. Cas’s hands have killed angels. They have crushed demons, monsters, and men. They touch Dean so gently and carefully. Reverentially. 

They’re both breathing heavily when the kiss ends, Dean unsure who stopped it. For a moment, Dean and Cas pant against each other’s mouths, limbs entangled, Dean’s erection trapped between them and Cas’s pressing up against Dean’s hip.

“Thought you said I wasn’t easy,” Dean says.

“Oh, you’re going to make me let you cook me breakfast first,” Cas says. Dean grins back at him.

“That so?”

“Yes,” Cas says with a somber nod. “Eggs and bacon, I think, with toast that isn’t burned. Just like you told me: first Baby Yoda, then breakfast, and then maybe we can…” His gaze sweeps Dean’s face and downward, making Dean flush. “Talk about it some more.”

Dean groans. “Using my own words against me. That’s cold.”

“Stay mad,” Cas says, then kisses him with closed lips, sweet and chaste.

“I didn’t make a deal with the Empty!”

“Yes, but this will keep us both motivated.” 

Surely that roll of Cas’s hip can’t be intentional torment. Or maybe it can, since he does it again in the other direction, sending Dean’s eyes rolling back into his head. Intentional or not, Dean has to take several deep breaths to keep himself in check before Cas clambers off of him. Even then, he closes his eyes and takes a few breaths, slowly counting to ten and willing his dick to just chill the hell out. 

“Do you need assistance?” Cas asks, with barely contained laughter in his voice.

“Gimme a second. Jesus!”

“Right father. Wrong son,” Cas deadpans, which sets Dean off, laughing hard enough to actually calm his junk down. He looks at Cas and shakes his head.

“You’re really something,” Dean says.

“Hopefully a pleasant something,” Cas says.

Dean laughs again and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well. You’re alright, I guess. You’ll do.”

“For you?”

“ _With_ me,” Dean says. “Yeah. I think we’re gonna do just fine.”


End file.
